


The trick is to keep breathing

by rydia



Series: Daughter of the rain and snow [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: A bit introspective, Broodmothers (Dragon Age), Canon-Typical Violence, Darkspawn, Deep Roads, F/M, Grey Wardens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydia/pseuds/rydia
Summary: The Wardens travelled into the Deep Roads to gain the aid of the dwarves during the Blight. They were searching for a Paragon – but they found much more than that.It wasn't easy for Maeryn to brush aside what they've seen and the implications of the Broodmother. Unfortunately for Alistair, she found it easier to brush aside his concern.





	The trick is to keep breathing

Orzammar should be a relief. They’ve been in the Deep Roads for weeks, and returning to the city meant being able to bathe and finally be clean again. It meant sleeping in a comfortable bed rather than a smelly bedroll, and a decent meal instead of stale rations.

There should only be relief at their return to civilisation.

But Maeryn remained on edge as she led her companions into the city. After so long in dead thaigs and putrid tunnels, Orzammar was slightly overwhelming. The normalcy of the everyday busyness of people going about their lives seemed foreign to her.

Behind Maeryn, Leliana was speaking with relish about her plans for the rest of the day – which mostly included a long, hot bath scented with the best oils Orzammar had to offer.

“I intend to smell like the most ostentatious parlour in Val Royeaux,” she said, obviously delighted at the idea. 

Morrigan was unimpressed. “Or perhaps you will smell like a brothel trying to hide something.”

Despite Morrigan’s snipe, Maeryn was glad to hear her friends speaking normally again. Normal for them, at least. The Deep Roads had proven to be a miserable experience for everyone, and hardly conducive to light conversation. The words spoken down there had been ones of necessity only, like the weight of the earth above them was pressing on their tongues, choking them.

That was how it had been for Maeryn. She still couldn’t catch her breath.

But it seemed clear that the rest of them were ready to forget what they’d seen in the belly of Thedas. They were ready to embrace their return to civilisation and the chance to relax.

For them, Orzammar _was_ a relief. 

But for Maeryn – well, if she had her way, she’d continue marching them through the city and to the Hall of Heroes and she would not stop until they were outside and back on the surface. She’d happily spend another sleepless night on hard ground with no promise of a bath or hot meal, if it meant that she could see the sky.

-

The weeks spent underground made her brittle. With no mirror, Maeryn couldn’t see her own reflection, but she saw how her friends grew paler and drawn, like sunlight was being leeched out of their skins and into the never-ending darkness.

She was so tired of the deep shadows, unsettling and infinite, that seemed to shift and twist and slither over her, wrapping around her throat. 

The further they ventured into the Deep Roads, the more difficult it became for Maeryn to take deep breaths. The putrid smell of darkspawn was everywhere, heavy in the stale air. And with each step further away from the surface, Maeryn’s dread grew and stifled her, her fear ever increasing that they would never get out of here. That she would die down here while the Blight ravaged the surface.

When they’d first entered Orzammar, they’d been relieved to get out of the biting wind of the Frostbacks. Now she longed to feel that fresh, cold snap of air on her face.

It seemed so very far away, like a dream half remembered.

The fear caught in her throat, and she swallowed it down with as much difficultly as the dry hunk of bread she ate at dinner. Both of them choked her, and sat leaden in her stomach.

She had never expected the Deep Roads to be a pleasant place, of course. But the reality of it was still far worse than anything she imagined – dark, oppressive. Full of decay and death.  A sad echo of the lost glory of the dwarves, and a grim reminder of Ferelden’s fate if they failed to end the Blight. 

They trudged through narrow, winding paths that seemed likely to cave in at the slightest provocation, making Maeryn’s eyes play tricks on her. She saw faces in the dark; or the walls would appear to shift and move, coming closer and closer, until it seemed like they were pressing on her, and she was certain she would be buried here, left to die suffocating as she fruitlessly tried to scream with no air. 

Then there were the large open areas, the long bridges, the ruins of thaigs that were now nothing more than a grave to countless dwarves. Whole cities once full of people and culture, all gone. Darkspawn seemed to appear from around every corner. Maeryn and her companions could never relax, because there was nowhere truly safe down here. There was no place to hide and no relief to be found. _This_ was the domain of the darkspawn, and not even the dwarves could hold them back.

The archdemon was there; making a noise that drilled into Maeryn’s skull, leaving her head aching. It was a noise she’d only heard in her dreams before, and one she never wanted to experience again. Following the archdemon was the darkspawn horde, and she tried not to think about how impossible the task of defeating it seemed, because she could not allow herself to doubt – at least not while they were still in the Deep Roads. Perhaps later, if they ever made it back to the surface, she would doubt and fret.

But was too frayed to allow that now. She couldn’t let herself fall into her fear. All she could do was focus on their task of finding this Paragon Branka so the dwarves could select their new king and commit soldiers to help stop the archdemon.

In this regard, being a Circle mage worked in her favour. Growing up in Kinloch Hold meant learning to control your emotions – because emotional mages put templars on edge. It caught their attention, made them watch closely. Made them whisper about a risk of possession. An emotional mage was seen as out of control – a magnet for demons. A danger to themselves and others.

Emotional mages were made Tranquil; a quaint name for the ritual, belying its violence. 

So Maeryn had long since learned to keep up a calm facade regardless of what was going on inside her. For better or worse, she was used to keeping her own counsel. And here, in the depths of the Deep Roads, _everyone_ was struggling and even if they could turn around and go back now, it would still take them many nights – because there was no day, not down here – to return to Orzammar. 

No, Maeryn was their leader, and if she faltered, they all faltered. 

-

And then they entered the Dead Trenches.

_First day they come and catch everyone._

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

Even now, safe in the normality of Orzammar, surrounded by the bustle of the city, Maeryn could still hear Hespith’s words like the whisper of a lover directly into her ears. They rattled around her brain.

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._

She shuddered as she remembered, and from the corner of her eye she saw Alistair’s face turn to her. Maeryn didn’t return his look, knowing that all she’ll see was his concern, and she was briefly annoyed with herself for not hiding her unease better from him.

Once again she attempted to swallow down the panic and revulsion that remained stuck in her throat, her constant companion since it became clear just what Hespith, that poor woman, was describing. 

_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._

_That_ was a moment she would remember for the rest of her life. She had halted in the Trenches, dread and nausea rising in her, and everyone else followed suit, tension thick in the air. Down there, so far down in that corrupt and rotten place, the only sounds were their harsh breathing and the whispers of Hespith, bouncing off the walls.

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._

In silence they listened, horror mounting. An icy feeling slimed its way down Maeryn’s spine, making her shiver and feel cold despite how stifling it was in the narrow tunnel. She was horribly aware of how far under the ground they were, and she yearned for simple things that seemed so far away that they would forever remain out of her reach: the wind ruffling her hair, sunlight dappling through the trees, the ever changing shift of clouds across the sky. 

Even while she had been in the Circle, unable to leave, there were still windows. She had still been able to see the sky. 

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._

Creeping awareness of just what they were listening to still didn’t prepare them for the horrifying reality of the Broodmother. When they entered its – her – chamber, Alistair turned to Maeryn, his expression horrified, and she knew her own face mirrored his, no longer able to pretend she wasn’t affected by what they were seeing.

_Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams._

-

The fight was long and gruesome, requiring their full attention. They could not waste time dwelling on just what this Broodmother was and how she had been made. 

But afterwards… afterwards… after the body of the Broodmother was cooling and they faced Branka and spoke with Caridin, a singular thought kept pressing at Maeryn. She’d pushed it aside as best she could, and for a time it was easy to do, because there was more fighting – and battling for survival was always a good way to banish unwanted thoughts.

It wasn’t until they were retracing their steps back to Orzammar – now carrying a crown made by Caridin for the new king – that she could no longer ignore what they had seen. The tunnels were mostly empty now thanks to their efforts and due to the Blight – the darkspawn were all heading to the surface, after all. But Maeryn would almost have welcomed a battle, just for the distraction.

The facts were stark. She was a Grey Warden. Not by choice – few things in her life seemed to be her own choice. But she accepted it. What other option did she have in that regard? There was a Blight. Only she and Alistair could stop it. 

And it wasn’t all bad, because there was _Alistair_ , of course, and the freedom that came with being a Grey Warden – something that, as a Circle mage, she would never take for granted. 

No, it certainly hadn’t been all bad, and even the bad was made better with Alistair beside her.

While he may have been content to let her lead, Alistair was still the one who had told her most of what she knew about the Grey Wardens. He was her authority on them. It was he who had told her of the fate of all Grey Wardens that didn’t die through battle – those who lived, but who would never become old. The darkspawn taint they took into their bodies during their Joining would eventually kill them – the Calling, it was called – and that when they heard their Calling, the Warden would enter the Deep Roads, killing as many darkspawn as they could before they succumbed to their Calling or were killed themselves.

Maeryn hadn’t quite known how to take that news. That she could only expect to live another thirty years at best had been harder to accept than the manner in which she was expected to die. It hadn’t been long since she’d become a Warden when Alistair told her this. She hadn’t been to the Deep Roads yet – it all hardly seemed real. 

So she’d pushed it aside. Thinking so far ahead when they still had a Blight to reckon with seemed like a waste of time, anyway.

But now…

Now, she kept picturing it, unable to banish the intrusive thoughts that came into her mind, made vivid by Hespith’s words. The images couldn’t be forced away, and she saw herself, overwhelmed by darkspawn, not allowed to die, made to become a monster. Left down there, deep deep underground, never to see the sky again.

Would an elven Broodmother look different to the dwarven one they’d slain?

-

They may be back in Orzammar, but Maeryn could not rest, not yet.

She sent the others off to their baths and meals, while she and Oghren went to face the dwarven leaders. Aside from Alistair, they all happily agreed – no one was in the mood for dwarven politics, and she didn’t blame them. But Alistair lingered with that concerned look on his face that she’s become very familiar with – it’s how he’s been looking at her for weeks now.

And like she’s been doing for weeks, she ignored it. 

It’s obvious he knew something was bothering her, and he could probably guess what it was. But he hadn’t questioned her about it – none of them were having meaningful conversations in the Deep Roads, and they had little privacy. Everyone was on constant alert. Conversations were quiet and terse. There were no easy chats over the fire, no singing from Leliana, no gentle teasing from Wynne. 

So Alistair hadn’t voiced his obvious worry. Instead, he’d placed his bedroll right beside hers every time they’d stopped to rest. They both lay in their separate bedrolls – still in their armour because the risk of ambush was high – facing each other, and Alistair held her hand in his, a silent support. 

She rested easier with his close presence, and the simple touch of his hand.

But now she turned away from him, ignoring the knot in her stomach as she did so. 

-

The dwarves were arguing. Maeryn was unsurprised by this, but she repressed a sigh as she thought about another Grey Warden fact that Alistair had told her – that the Grey Wardens didn’t get involved in politics.

She had well and truly broken that tenet, anyway. Something else that hadn’t been her choice – she’d hardly wanted to get involved in the dwarven succession crisis, and she knew so little of dwarven culture that she felt like she was blundering in the dark. She’d much rather they just commit the help for the Blight that they should, and leave her out of this mess. 

At least Oghren was with her, a strange dwarf she wasn’t entirely sure she liked yet. But he was a formidable warrior and had been invaluable in the Deep Roads, and he was an insight into Orzammar. She wondered how he was dealing with Branka’s death. She had been his wife, after all.

They both still had darkspawn guts clinging to their armour, and Maeryn was sure they both smelled like a dirty public privy, but she’s become distressingly immune to her own stench by now.  It hardly mattered, though, because as soon as she produced the crown forged by Caridin a hush fell over the dwarven assembly. A quick examination backed up her words; this was truly a crown made by one of their Paragons to set upon the head of the new king. 

The choosing of a new king: a decision that somehow ended up in the hands of an elven mage. Maeryn couldn’t help but silently agree with Harrowmont when he objected to an outsider who knew nothing of the dwarves making this decision. 

 _You always wanted choices Mae_ , she thought to herself. _Be careful what you wish for._

And when the crown was placed on Bhelen’s head, Maeryn felt uneasy, but she was between a rock and a hard place. Bhelen at least seemed more forward thinking than Harrowmont, more likely to let his army go to the surface to battle darkspawn. 

Still, the sensible part of her was thinking that this was no way to pick a king.

That thought was only reinforced when Bhelen’s first act as king was to have Harrowmont executed. Maeryn’s unease increased. His quick assurance of dwarven support for the Blight did little to help the blossoming anxiety at the thought that she had just placed a tyrant on the throne of Orzammar. 

-

The new king – tyrant or not – gave Maeryn and all her companions luxurious guest rooms in the palace that they were free to use whenever they were in Orzammar. He was extremely accommodating, and she realised that – as stone cold and vicious as Bhelen clearly was – he was also grateful for her help, and he rewarded those who helped him. By the time Maeryn could take her leave of Bhelen, it was late in the day, and easy for her to avoid her friends. 

Finally free, she parted ways with Oghren who announced that he needed a drink, immediately, and left the palace. Maeryn herself set out for a bath, and she scrubbed herself until her skin was pink and raw, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, she still felt dirty. Her hair she washed again and again, afterwards enjoying the mindless task of working out the tangles with a comb, staring at nothing, focusing solely on the process of combing. Later, she ate in the privacy of her room, still staring blankly ahead, trying not to let the intrusive thoughts return and overwhelm her. 

Her weariness was bone deep, but she couldn’t settle. When she retired to bed, sleep eluded her, despite her exhaustion and comfortable surroundings. 

She thought of Alistair, of the way he’d held her hand while he lay in his own bedroll, the way his thumb would sweep over her palm. How, even amongst the horror and death he had a smile for her, a joke to cheer her up, a potion ready if she needed it, a hand at her elbow to help her stand. 

Tossing and turning, she couldn’t rest. This was the first time she had been comfortable and safe in an age. She should _sleep_.

But she couldn’t, because she couldn’t wash away what she’d seen and experienced as easily as the dirt. It ate away at her, this knowledge of what it truly meant to be a Grey Warden and the motto finally made sense – _in death, sacrifice_. 

With a shuddering breath, Maeryn felt like she’s back there, fighting the Broodmother. She could smell it – the foul stench of it, and she heard once again the sickening noise Alistair’s sword made when it penetrated her flesh. The Broodmother had been a dwarf once. Had there been some part of the original woman left? 

Had any part of her felt relief as she’d fallen, allowed to finally die? 

And so Maeryn lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. The palace grew quiet. When her thoughts turned from the Broodmother to wondering just how much packed earth was above the stone ceiling she was staring at, her breath caught and the panic began to rise again. She sat up with a start, magically lighting the candles in the room with more mana than necessary. They flickered and danced, throwing sparks and ominous shadows before settling. 

Maeryn wanted to crawl out of her own skin and suddenly she couldn’t – she _just couldn’t_ – stay here any longer, trapped underground. It wasn’t not right, it wasn’t not natural and she had to see the sky immediately, even if it was the middle of the night and the walk back to the surface from the palace was a long one. 

She didn’t care. She needed to get out of here _now_. 

-

Maeryn got no further than the exit from Orzammar that lead to the Hall of Heroes before her hopeful flight was pulled up short.

“I’m sorry, Warden, but the gate to the surface is closed until morning. No one may pass, on King Bhelen’s orders.”

Maeryn stared at the guard in dismay, taking in a shuddering breath as best she could, because the knot of anxiety in her throat was expanding again. The dwarf who had spoken looked right back at her – not unkindly, but still firm. Three other guards surrounded the gate, and for a split second of madness she considered fighting her way through; she’d brought her staff with her – by now it was a habit to carry it everywhere. She was annoyed that her study of shapeshifting magic with Morrigan had been put aside while in the Deep Roads. She was so close to unlocking it and if she had, she’d be able to just turn into a bird and fly straight past them, out and away, into the sky. Free.

But she couldn’t. She had to stay underground for at least several more hours and she didn’t know how to face that.

Turning away from the guards without a word, her panic continued to grow. Aimlessly, she took a few steps, trying to take deep breaths as she glanced around, wondering if there was somewhere she could hide, fearing that her panic was written all over her face. 

Her hands shook. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

She grasped her staff tightly in both hands until her knuckles turned white.

Maeryn was so distracted that she didn’t notice Alistair until he was directly in front of her, and it took her a moment to register what he was saying to her. His eyes rested on hers briefly, before he glanced at the guards behind her.

“Are you alright?” Alistair was hesitant, hand hovering in the air between them like he might touch her. But he dropped it, an uncertain look crossing his face as his gaze returned to her, making Maeryn wonder what he saw when he looked at her.

She shrugged, side-stepping him and taking quick strides back in the direction of the palace. Where else could she go? There was no other way out of Orzammar. 

Alistair walked with her, easily keeping her pace, and Maeryn was all too aware that he was watching her with the same concern as he had been for weeks.

And shoe couldn’t deal with that, because she’s just had the sickening realisation that she was angry with him.

That’s unfair to Alistair, of course, she knew that immediately. Shooting the messenger. Alistair had been the one to tell her about the side effects of the Joining, but he hadn’t been the one to fashion the chains that hung around a Warden’s neck, or even the one to conscript her in the first place.

But he’d still known, before her Joining. She’d fought by his side as they gathered that darkspawn blood – for her to _drink_ – and he’d said nothing. 

But that was still unfair too – he’d only been a Warden, for… six months, she recalled, at that point. He was the newest member of the Order. He was just doing what he was told to do, trying to prove himself to the Wardens and a man he idolised. What’s more, he was sentenced to the same miserable death as her, although the unholy terror of potentially becoming a Broodmother was something he would escape. Lucky man.

Not for the first time, Maeryn wondered if the price of being a Grey Warden was too high. 

It wasn’t right to be angry at Alistair, but she was, because he’s the only one she _could_ be angry at. Alistair who’s been so good to her, so kind. Who gave her a rose and got really good at kissing really fast… 

Her heart twisted. She didn’t deserve him. He didn’t deserve her anger.

Alistair was still walking apace with her, but he’s fallen silent. Worry radiated off him like an aura; she could feel it without even looking at him. 

They passed back through Orzammar quickly and as they entered the palace, guards nodded at them, not seeming to find it strange that the two Wardens were wandering around in the middle of the night. Maeryn only stopped her match when they reached the guest quarters, some urgency leaving her now that they were no longer in public. But the panic remained. Still refusing to look at Alistair, she tried – with difficulty – to breathe deeply.

He seemed to want to explain himself, taking her pause as an opening. “I wasn’t following you! Well, I was, but I didn’t mean to – I was worried. I couldn’t sleep and I heard you leave your room and I was… I was just worried.” He ran a hand through his hair, musing it up.

Something in Maeryn fractured at that, at her own self-centredness in the face of his concern. She hadn’t even really considered why he’d shown up at the gates, having been too busy trying not to panic in the middle of Orzammar. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, she blurted out, “Did you know? About the broodmother?”

Opening her eyes, she finally looked at him. He was surprised by the question. “No, I didn’t.” He paused, understanding. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

She shook her head, turning away and stalking down the hallway to her room. Alistair quickly caught up with her, and when she paused at her door, he placed a hesitant hand on her arm. 

Maeryn wanted, more than anything, to turn into him and to let the comfort of being in his arms soothe her. To let him kiss her until she was breathless and couldn’t think of anything but him. To let him talk to her about everything and nothing and make her laugh and feel a happiness she’d never even known she could feel.

But she couldn’t and she didn’t know why..

“Just forget it,” she muttered, shrugging off his arm and trying to ignore the hurt that flashed across his face.

“Mae–”

“Goodnight, Alistair.” She didn’t let him reply, stepping into her room and closing the door behind her, shutting herself in with her own thoughts and growing guilt.

It took a long time for Alistair to move away from the door and return to his own room, and Maeryn knew this because she remained leaning against it for a long time after he left.  

Now that she was alone again, she felt even worse. Regret gnawed at her.

Self loathing was, in fact, a new feeling for her. She’d always had a healthy dose of self confidence – she’d been a talented apprentice, a bit coddled by the First Enchanter, but more than able to prove herself. A big fish in a little pond. After becoming a Grey Warden and being cast adrift in a world she mostly only knew through books, she’d clutched onto the certainty she’d felt in the Circle – that she was a powerful mage, a good mage, a mage that could be First Enchanter herself some day. She was clever enough to get by because she was well read and a quick study, hiding her inexperience in so many things behind a confidence that felt increasingly shaky. A confidence built on a foundation of sand, it seemed.

She’d been cold with Alistair when they’d first met, even while she’d been unable to stop sneaking glances at him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. Then they’d become friends, and then they’d become… more. And somehow he’d become _more_ important than anything else to her. Had she even told him that?

She hadn’t. Alistair was the one with words that charmed her and made her melt, as earnest as he was awkward at times, but always genuine. He was the one that drew her out of herself, made her laugh like no one else ever had, made her feel…

… _Oh_.

_Oh, shit, I love him._

The realisation startled Maeryn and brought her back to herself, still leaning against the door of her dark room in Bhelen’s palace. How long had it been since she’d shrugged Alistair away after he tried to comfort her? All because of her stupid misplaced anger that actually had nothing to do with him at all.

_Why are you such a nughead, Maeryn Surana?_

No longer able to stay in her room, she hauled open the door like it had personally offended her and made the short trip down the hallway to the room Alistair was staying in. They didn’t often have the privilege of private rooms, so she knew he was alone, but she still hovered outside the door listening for any sign that he was still awake. She couldn’t hear anything and for a moment she hesitated– he was sure to be just as tired as she was. The Deep Roads had been tough on everyone. If he was sleeping, it seemed unfair to wake him. 

But… if she didn’t talk to him she wasn’t going to get any sleep herself. And she wanted to see him. She didn’t want to leave things like this between them until the next time they managed to find some privacy. 

And above all, Mae was a selfish creature. So she knocked quietly, hopefully quiet enough that it wouldn’t wake him if he did happen to be sleeping.

There was a sound from inside the room as soon as she knocked, and the door was flung open a second later, so quick it startled her. Alistair peered at her, face scrunched up and blinking against the light provided by the torches in the hall. The room behind him was dark, but he didn’t look like he had been asleep.

“Can we talk?” she asked, a note of pleading in her voice. 

He nodded, stepping back to let her inside, and as he shut the door, Maeryn used her magic to light a few of the candles, leaving the room still dim but at least not in complete darkness. When she turned to Alistair, her mouth went dry and it was just as well she was still holding her staff tightly because for a moment all she could think about was the overwhelming need she had to touch him immediately.

Alistair was shirtless. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him like this, but his feet were bare and his hair was messy, and they were in an actual room alone together, and it seemed so very intimate. All he’s wearing were thin trousers, and she noticed the unmade bed, blankets rumpled like he’d been tossing and turning, fruitlessly chasing rest. There were dark circles under Alistair’s eyes that she hadn’t even noticed before, and he looked as tired as Maeryn herself felt. The guilt and self loathing began to creep back. 

Alistair’s voice was soft. “Are you alright, Mae?” 

It was the same thing he’d asked earlier, before she’d brushed him off. She’d been rude and he was still worried about her. He didn’t even appear at all annoyed with her when he’d be completely justified if he was.

She shook her head wordlessly, staring up at him, suddenly feeling like she was going to cry. But she didn’t – she swallowed that back down with her constant low level panic. She was good at doing that. Alistair seemed to notice anyway because before she knew it, he was sighing out her name and wrapping his arms around her, holding her close. 

Her breath hitched, and the sudden onslaught of being surrounded by Alistair was very, very welcome. He was so very warm, and he smelled incredible and her face was against the bare skin of his chest. Greedy to feel more of him, she brought her hands up to rest gently on his smooth, strong back, letting her staff clatter to the ground, ignored by both of them. He tensed slightly at her touch and then relaxed into her and she swallowed again, all of her senses overwhelmed – but in a good way, because it’s all Alistair. 

They stayed like that, silent and unmoving, for a few minutes. Maeryn finally pulled back slightly, unwilling to part from him but needing to look him in the eye when she spoke. Her voice was quiet but steady. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Alistair’s expression was warm. He still looked tired, but something lightened in him. “You know, I thought it would be tomorrow before you’d do this.” 

She frowned. “Do what?”

“Come find me and apologise for giving me the cold shoulder. You’ve done it a few times, but each time you say sorry quicker and quicker. I’m hoping next time we’ll skip the whole part where you walk away and I have to wait for you and instead you just let me take care of you.” Alistair’s voice remained light but there was an undercurrent of hurt he can’t mask. 

Maeryn’s first impulse was to draw back and deny what he’d just said, but… Alistair was right. Whenever she was upset or angry or overwhelmed she pulled away despite really wanting nothing more than to let him comfort her. She hadn’t even realised she was doing it until he said it. Alistair’s grip tightened on her, only a fraction, like he was aware of her thoughts – like he was afraid she’d walk away again.

“I–” She went to apologise again, but Alistair cut her off gently.

“It’s alright,” he said, “I understand if you need space and I don’t expect you to want to be around me _all_ the time – you put up with my jokes better than most, though, I applaud your patience. I just… want you to know that I’m always here if you need to talk or cry or shout. I entirely understand if you’d want to shout a lot.” 

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this, but Maeryn realised this was the first time she really believed him. Not because she’d thought he’d been lying before, but because she wouldn’t _let_ herself believe it before. 

But she did now, and that knowledge soaked into her like a warm balm on her skin.

Her hands explored down his back and around his sides to rest on his chest. As Maeryn felt Alistair shiver under her touch, she considered telling him – letting him know how much she loved him, and hoped that he loved her back. But she didn’t, because they were still in Orzammar and some part of her – probably some silly part – wanted to save it for the surface, for when they were outside in the air, where they should be. Maybe in a meadow full of flowers under a clear blue sky. 

So instead she whispered ‘thank you’ to him before raising her voice slightly. “I’ll try to not run away anymore.” 

He gave her a gentle smile, pleased, but it faded quickly. “I meant what I said before, Mae.” His voice was as soft as his smile. Both warmed her. “I had no idea about the Broodmothers. Duncan – none of them – ever mentioned them to me, but I’m sure they must have known.” 

Maeryn nodded, dropping her gaze, feeling guilty once again about her misplaced anger. “I hate the Deep Roads,” she whispered, like it was something to be ashamed about. There was so much more she could say about how the Deep Roads and the Broodmothers make her feel – the fear, the panic, the dread – but she kept it to herself, for now. Her anxieties were a burden that Alistair was willing to help her share, but it was still difficult to suddenly unload so much at once. And in truth, she wasn’t ready to talk more fully about it, not yet.

This was a start.

“Understandable,” Alistair replied heavily, likely thinking that it was inevitable they would both have to return to them someday. She knew that herself. “I’m looking forward to seeing the sky.” 

His admission, the same as her own feelings, made her relax slightly. “Me, too.” 

“And going for a swim,” he continued, hands lightly running up and down her arms. “A nice, bracing swim in a cold stream. That’s a sure way to wipe away the Deep Roads. And it’ll also put hair on your chest, as they say.” He paused like he was considering what he’d just said. “Figuratively speaking, I’m assuming.”

The word _chest_ made Maeryn’s eyes drop to _his_ bare chest, and she smoothed her hands over him, once again making him shiver and his grip on her tightened, making her want to press herself even closer against his skin. She imagined how Alistair would look with water dripping off him, rising from a flowing river, shirtless… before turning her thoughts away from that direction, for now.

“I’d hope so, a sudden growth of chest hair could be rather alarming.” 

“Especially if it’s as red as the hair on your head.” He raised his eyebrows at her.

Maeryn smiled back at him, her first true smile in a long time. She’d missed this easiness, and found she could breathe a little easier. “Do you think Oghren has a chest full of red hair?” 

Alistair guffawed at that. “I honestly don’t want to know.” But then he thought about it and said, “Maybe he braids it.” 

“You should take him swimming to find out,” she replied slyly.

“Oh, no, no. I’d much rather take _you_ swimming.” 

That idea had merit, but… “You’ll have to teach me.” 

Alistair’s eyebrows rose again, this time in surprise. “You can’t swim?” Even as he was speaking, he realised. “That’s a stupid question, ignore it. Can’t exactly learn to swim when you don’t leave the Tower, I suppose.” 

She hummed in reply, lifting a shoulder in a lazy shrug. She’d lived in the Tower surrounded by a lake, and she’d often looked out the windows and thought about swimming. But like a lot of things, it was something abstract, a silly daydream. Even if the templars might occasionally let them out to the small strip of land around the Tower, swimming was out of the question. “Would you teach me?” she asked.

His face lit up. “Of course. We didn’t have much chance to swim after I bagan training, but I used to go swimming in Lake Calenhad as a boy.”

“I used to look out at that lake and wish I could swim in it.” Maeryn was wistful, and they both fell silent again, considering the past. Alistair was about to reply when Maeryn suddenly yawned widely, unable to stop it. So he just smiled fondly at her as he took her hand and lead her to the bed.

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” He flushed as he asked, aware of how that sounded, but Maeryn knew he did mean only to sleep. So she simply nodded, pulling off the heavy cloak and boots she’d thrown over her sleeping shift when she left the palace earlier, dropping them where she stood and quickly climbing into the bed. Alistair extinguished the few candles she’d lit earlier, grinning at her eagerness, and it wasn’t long before he joined her under the blankets, his smile turning shy.

As soon as he was settled in bed, Maeryn kissed him, and Alistair sighed into her, happily returning the kiss, his hand resting comfortably on her hip. For a few moments, the pressure on her chest disappeared completely, and she forgot about the Deep Roads and the fact that she was still underground and had quite possibly put a tyrant on the throne of Orzammar and really, she just forgot about everything that wasn’t Alistair. 

In the darkness and in the comfort of a bed, Alistair kisses and touches were bolder, whether he was aware of it or not. It’s something that registered with Maeryn as the hand that was resting on her hip pulled her leg over his own hip, drawing her to him before it slid up her bare thigh, over her smalls, and under her shift to rest on on the skin of her back. His other hand tangled in her hair, gently angling her head so he could deepen the kiss. 

It felt so good, and she tightened the leg wrapped around him, shifting in an attempt to get even closer, and she could feel his hardness between them. Her free hand clutched onto his arm, feeling the strong cord of muscles, and she wanted, oh, she _wanted_. 

But her movements were enough for Alistair to pull away from her mouth with a groan. She was relieved he didn’t pull his body away from her, but she could feel him tensing up, and they’re both breathing heavily, like they’d just been through a pitched battle.

“Sorry,” he began, but Maeryn shook her head at him with a smile, cupping his cheek in her hand, feeling the warmth of his blush under her fingers even if she couldn’t see it in the dark. Another fleeting image came to her, this time of what he’d look like under the moonlight when he was like this and she filed it away; something else to look forward to when they returned to the surface, definitely not something to dwell on when they were supposed to be trying to go to sleep.

She pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth and he relaxed, tentatively stroking the skin on her back. “Never apologise for that,” she murmured in reply.

Alistair’s reply was gallant, but his tone was roughened with arousal. “As you wish, my lady.” His fingers still explored her bare skin, somewhat tentatively, but he turned more playful. “I am at your service.” 

Maeryn’s breath caught at the sincerity in his voice, and all she wanted was to kiss him again. But she didn’t, reminding herself that now wasn’t the time – something that was only reinforced when Alistair yawned. Sleep now, she thought, kisses tomorrow. 

They settled down, wrapped up in each other, and Maeryn felt the anxiety began to creep back in. But it was lessened, like Alistair’s arms were a barrier keeping out the worst of it, and she buried her face into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, matching her breathing to it until she finally fell asleep.

-

There was no clear blue sky when they finally returned to the surface, but Maeryn didn’t mind.

It was snowing.

Behind her, she heard Zevran grumble about Ferelden weather. She turned to him with a smile, about to reply, but it dropped from her face when she caught sight of Oghren, stilling her words. 

He was staring up at the sky with an ashen expression. As if feeling her gaze on him, he dropped his eyes to hers and grumbled, “Give me a moment.”

Maeryn stepped towards him, letting Zevran pass her by. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course everything’s all right!” He exhaled noisily. “Just give me one sodding moment.”  Oghren paused, looking up at the sky again, and Maeryn glanced at Alistair, who had also come to a halt to watch Oghren. “By the Stone, I feel like I’m about to fall off the world with all that sky up there.” 

Both she and Alistair looked up into the overcast sky filled with snowflakes.

“Is that strange to you?” Maeryn asked curiously. She wondered what it must be like for him to experience this after a life spent underground. Would he yearn to leave the surface as much as she had longed to return to it? 

“Strange? Ha!” Oghren replied. “Strange is your wife turning out to prefer the ladies. Not living in a world without a bleeding ceiling.”

He straightened up, a steely glint entering his eyes as he began walking forward, keeping his gaze straight ahead. His steps were heavy and measured, each footfall landing loudly, like he was afraid walking lightly would mean falling into the sky. Alistair stepped up beside Maeyn and they both watched him in silence for a moment.

She took in their surroundings – they were standing in the trading area just outside of Orzammar, but it was early and cold enough that few were out and about. The breeze was fresh, but not too strong, and Maeryn closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, aware of a thousand little sensations she’d missed while underground – a snowflake landing on her eyelash, the crunch of snow under her boots, the wind blowing her hair that refused to stay in her braid around her face. 

When she felt Alistair’s fingers entwine in hers, she still didn’t open her eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile as she returned the gesture, tightening her hand around his own.

“When… or if, we have to return to the Deep Roads…” Alistair trailed off and she opened her eyes to look up at him. He had a serious expression on his face, and he took a deep breath and said fiercely, “You never have to go in there alone, I’ll always go with you.”

A lump rose in Maeryn’s throat, but this time it wasn’t because of rising panic. It was because of how much she loved this man, and how lucky she was to have found him. He was her choice, as she appeared to be his, and she would choose him over every other man in Thedas.

She turned to him more fully, letting go of his hand to wind her arms around his neck, reaching up for a kiss. “We stay together,” she whispered, and she knew that she would have to tell him how she felt, very soon. For all the thoughts and feelings she kept to herself, this was the one she wanted to share more than anything.

Alistair nodded. “Together.” A kiss sealed the promise. It was just borderline inappropriate for where they were, but all their companions were far enough ahead not to notice.

When they pulled apart, Mae beamed up at him, and they began moving to catch up with the others, ready to face the next part of their journey.

There was still a Blight and an archdemon to stop, and if they survived that, they would still have to reckon with their Calling and the Deep Roads.

But it was less terrifying to know she wouldn’t be dealing with it alone, and Maeryn made a promise to herself that she’d do whatever it took to make sure she and Alistair made it out of this Blight alive, and together. 

She was in love. 

And she was a selfish creature, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Would Orzammar even have a day/night cycle like the surface, maybe I should research?  
> Also me: OH MY GOD WHO THE HELL CARES JUST WRITE THE DAMN FIC
> 
> (me #2 won)
> 
> Anyway those Broodmothers sure are fucked up, eh?


End file.
